


Maybe We Do

by beastkeeper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Artist Clarke, Cute Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Depression, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, like really slow I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastkeeper/pseuds/beastkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Lexa moved out of her parents' household to escape a painful past, she has been careful not to let anyone get too close. However, when she is paired with the beautiful and mysterious Clarke Griffin for an art project, she finds herself growing attached and protective all over again. Will she be able to save Clarke from herself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Before you start reading, I'd like to make sure you're aware of the trigger warnings that I put in the tags. Although it will not appear until later chapters, there will be content dealing with rape (only a mention), anxiety, depression, self-harm, thoughts of suicide, and attempted suicide. If any of this content might be a trigger for you or make you otherwise uncomfortable, please be aware of its presence.  
> I'd also like to say that though I have been writing for a while, this is my first fan-fiction, so LOTS of feedback is encouraged! Anything that you want to see more or less of, anything that you love or hate, etc, please do let me know.  
> Thanks for reading, there's more to come! Enjoy!

Rays of barely morning sun streamed through the crack between the curtains, beckoning her eyes to open, warming her face. She stretched her waking limbs and wiped the last bit of sleep from her eyes before sitting up and tossing her blankets aside. As she pulled on leggings and a light jacket, her alarm blared. _Five A M,_ it told her. She had made good time already. Down the stairs of the apartment building, out the door, and to the woods, Lexa strode quietly and breathed in deeply, preparing herself for the run.

She couldn’t remember a time when a morning run was not part of her routine. Before middle school, when she began focusing the habit as a way to train for the track team, she had often gone out with her father in the mornings and tried oh so desperately to keep up with his long, steady bounds. She may have been able to do so, by middle school, had he continued to run with her. These days, she immersed herself in the run and in the woods for herself, and no one else. Many seasons and many people had come and gone, but the sting of her lungs and the pull of her muscles and the rush of the air all around her as she glided through the trees would remain. And that was all she needed.

 _Six fifteen,_ her phone told her as she peeled sweaty layers from her skin. Though her heart rate had slowed from the run during her stretching, her body temperature had only continued to rise. The shower raised the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck, but it settled her steaming blood and awoke any remaining sleeping segments of her brain. When she finished, she combed her hair and donned the outfit she had chosen the night before: tight blue jeans, black converse sneakers, a worn leather jacket, and a loose grey t-shirt.

“Monday,” she mumbled to herself, leafing through her planner. “Giving a speech today in public speaking, and starting a new project in artistic explorations…dammit.” The speech would be no problem for Lexa; she had always been a charismatic speaker and she had prepared well for this one in particular. It was the art project that gave her a wave of nervous energy, for several reasons. The first reason was her lack of artistic skill, which could lead to embarrassment or even bad marks, which were both completely against Lexa’s standards for herself. The next reason, though it had the potential to help with the first, was the knowledge that this would be a partner project. It was the brunette’s senior year, but only her second year in this new town, and she had not made much effort or progress towards being friendly with classmates. The final reason was Clarke.

Clarke had been in a few of Lexa’s classes since she moved to the town of Polis in the middle of last semester.

_"So, what brought you and your mother here, Clarke?” The teacher mused. Clarke stood, arms crossed, in front of expectant classmates._

_“Um...a plane.” Several students giggled at the curt response, though it wasn’t what she had intended. She was undeniably beautiful, though one could rarely tell, as she almost always wore a hood over her head and rarely looked anyone in the eye. But Lexa saw her. She saw something in Clarke that she had not allowed herself to see for years._

Clarke Griffin, quite by accident, had become known as one of the best artists-- if not _the_ best-- in the school. This semester, of course, she had managed to find her way into the one art class Lexa would be required to take during her high school experience, but not into any of the classes for which Lexa felt pride. She didn’t see a way that this project wouldn’t end in her embarrassment in front of the other girl, until her name was spoken.

“Lexa Woods, you will be paired with Clarke Griffin.”

Her heart beat wildly, threatening to leap through her rib cage, but her face succeeded in remaining stoic. She stood and gathered her things to take up her new seat next to her partner.

“Hello,” she began. The blonde sat on the edge of her seat, barely acknowledging Lexa.

“Hi.”

“So...did you want to set up a meeting tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, biting her nails.

“Great. For other projects I would say we should meet at the library, since it’s close and we don’t know each other well.” She carefully kept her signature diplomatic tone. “However, paint is not very library friendly. So would you prefer your house, or mine?”

The blonde turned to answer her partner, removing her fingers from beneath her teeth. Lexa noticed for the first time how blue the girl’s eyes were up close.

“Can we go to your house? My mom doesn’t like people over when she’s at work.” Her heel tapped rapidly, nervously.

“Sure, that’s fine with me. Do you think you’ll stay for dinner?” The blonde paused, eyes locked with Lexa’s, before returning to her staring contest with the wall across the room.

“Probably not,” she muttered. Although they were not surprising, the words stung Lexa a little more than she anticipated. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Alright, then.”

Their art teacher called her students back to attention, giving a few final instructions about the project before the bell rang. When it did, the blonde pulled her bag from behind her and hurried towards the door.

"Wait, Clarke!” Lexa called. Clarke stopped.

“Will you need a ride over?” She shook her head, pulling a sharpie from her pocket and grabbing Lexa’s wrist. Her hand was quick and deliberate, but gentle. Lexa’s stomach lurched at the touch and she struggled to calm the heat in her cheeks, but it was over before she could process what exactly had happened.

“Text me your address. I’ll stop at home and then come right over.” Lexa looked down where the girl’s hand had been to find seven digits in thick black ink.

 

✩✩✩

 

**Mon 2:31pm: Lexa**

216 Maple Avenue, second apartment. Press the buzzer next to my name and I’ll come down to let you in.

 

She held her breath, finally pressing send after staring at the words for several minutes. It was unlike her to fret over something as trivial as a text message, but this somehow seemed more important. Clarke had always appeared anxious in class, but Lexa’s assumption was that she, like every other student, was simply anxious to leave. Their interaction had told her otherwise. She wondered if Clarke’s reluctance to communicate would continue, and knew that if it did, the success of even small interactions would be crucial to any relationship they might have, even simply as project partners.

 

**Mon 2:34pm: Clarke**

Thnx. C u then.

 

It was brief response, but alone in her apartment, Lexa allowed herself a grin. She had anticipated silence.

 

✩✩✩

 

When she got home on Tuesday afternoon, Lexa set immediately to work on preparing the apartment for her guest. She vacuumed the carpet and dusted around in the living room, she picked up her shoes by the door and swept underneath, she lit a candle on the counter to give the house a hint of “apple cider” scent. In the kitchen, she cut up two apples and put them on a serving dish, filling the dressing bowl in the center with peanut butter. While adding some crackers to the plate, she paused, in a panic. _What if Clarke is allergic to peanut butter?_ She put down the box of crackers, leaning on the counter and glaring across the room, deep in thought. _Think. Have I ever seen her eating anything with peanut butter? No, I don’t recall...I don’t know that I’ve ever even seen her eating. Have we ever had lunch together?_

Just then, the doorbell rang. _There’s still time for me to clean up if she is...right?_

Clarke stood on the porch of Lexa’s apartment, breath visible in the February air.

“Hey,” she muttered, avoiding the girl’s eyes.

“Hey,” Lexa returned, “come on in.” As they climbed the stairs, she noticed the pink of the blonde’s cheeks behind her hood and the snow caked to her boots.

“Did you walk here? From your house?”

“Yeah,” Clarke shrugged.

“I told you I could give you a ride! Aren’t you freezing?” She could hear the concern in Lexa’s voice. This surprised the blonde, who knew that Lexa rarely let notes of emotion slip into her words. Lexa noticed the slip herself and quickly looked away.

“It’s not too cold out,” Clarke mumbled.

They arrived at the third floor, and Lexa got out her key.

“So um, this is my place.” They stood for a moment, Clarke taking in the room. To the left was a small kitchen with a wooden countered bar, and to the right, a pine green couch, a coffee table, and a small television. It was somewhat plain, but impressive all the same.

“Do you live alone?” She asked, a little bewildered.

“Yeah. I moved out last year before school started.” Lexa’s face turned stony.

“Oh,” Clarke mumbled, embarrassed. _Is that a touchy subject for her?_

“So should we get started?” She interrupted Clarke’s thoughts, pushing the awkward tension aside. “I bought a big canvas yesterday and picked up people’s old newspapers around the building. You said you’d bring the paints and brushes, right?”

“Yeah, here.” She sighed silently in relief, pulling off her bag and her coat, happy for the change of subject. Lexa got busy pushing the coffee table against the back wall and heading to her room for the newspapers and canvas. Before returning, she took a deep breath, willing away the storm that threatened to brew inside her. It was rare that she was confronted about her living apart from her parents, and when she was, she made a point not to leak any information. It was her business, and the wound was still a little too raw to be dealt with in front of others.

As she returned to the living room, she found Clarke surrounding herself with small paint jars in an array of colors. Two sets of brushes in excellent condition lay in front of her, descending in size. She wore a hoodie and utilized the hood, as usual, but her typical absent stare had been replaced by a soft concentration. Her hands both worked pulling jars from a canvas bag she had shouldered all the way to the apartment; neither set of fingernails moved nervously under her teeth. Lexa’s discomfort subsided, and a smile crept to her lips.

 “You have a _lot_ of paint,” she said, cutting through the silence of the girl’s work. Concentration broken, blue eyes snapped towards Lexa.

“Did I bring too much?”

“No, not at all,” she knelt nearby and examined a jar labelled “red maple.”

“The label on that one’s a lie,” Clarke murmured, looking back to her bag. “Red maple leaves are darker and have more purple than orange. It should have been called cardinal red or something.” Lexa stifled a laugh. It must have been more than she’d ever heard Clarke say at once.

“So you can decide our color palette, then. You’re definitely more informed than I am about colors.” It might have been remnants of the cold walk over, but Lexa could have sworn she saw a slight blush on the blonde’s cheeks at her words.

“I mean I guess I know some stuff about color. That’s just because I study it a lot. Everyone thinks I’m some kind of amazing artist, but I think they just get overexcited by how often I practice. I mean, it’s mostly all I do.” She paused her work, lifting a hand to resume biting her nails.

“Are you kidding? I’ve seen your paintings and your charcoal work, and they put our class to shame. Seriously, even your handwriting looks like art.” Lexa glanced down at her arm, where she had been careful not to rub off the thick black numbers. Perhaps she had said too much. Clarke shrugged, fingers still at her lips. Her expression was blank, walls doing their job to guard, but Lexa saw a tension in her eyes. She spoke barely above a whisper.

 “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s um, let’s get this done.” The blonde started laying out the newspapers but kept her eyes to the floor, careful not to let Lexa in again. They spoke sparsely to each other while sketching, only just enough to keep the project a team effort. Lexa’s pencil dragged lifelessly across the canvas. Her mind was somewhere else; she couldn’t help wondering what switch had been flipped in the girl beside her to send her back into that defensive state.

 

✩✩✩

 

**Tues 6:17pm: Clarke**

Thnx 4 bringing me home.

 

**Tues 6:19pm: Lexa**

You’re welcome, anytime you need it. You don’t live far from me, anyway.

 

**Tues 6:23pm: Lexa**

Hey, um, since we didn’t get to finish today, did you want to come back tomorrow?

 

**Tues 6:51pm: Clarke**

Sure

 

**Tues 6:54pm: Lexa**

 Great! I hope you know I won’t be letting you walk this time :P

 

**Tues 6:56pm: Clarke**

Haha. Okay Lexa.

 

That night as Lexa lay in bed, she hesitated before turning off her phone. The blinding screen stung her eyes, but it was worth it, and she stared straight into the light. When she finally did fall asleep, the phone still laid on her chest, and a grin had spread across her face. Clarke had called her by her name.


	2. A Look at Lexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa continue their art project and their struggle to become comfortable around one another. Lexa consults Anya about the situation, and we begin to uncover Lexa's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's reading, and double thank you to those who left kudos or a comment! I'm thrilled with the turn out and I can't wait to see what everyone thinks about this chapter.  
> As usual, comments are strongly encouraged. I love to hear what's going through people's heads as they're reading, and I'm always open to suggestions!  
> From here on out the plan is to post chapters on Tuesdays here as well as on fanfiction.net.  
> Happy reading!

The first few minutes of the car ride was nearly silent. Clarke chewed her nails and stared out the window, hoping Lexa couldn’t see her nerves building up.

“Clarke?” The butterflies in her stomach grew restless at the sound of her name.

“Yes?”

“Maybe we should add a little bit more of that golden color to the rest of the right hand side of our painting. I was looking at it last night, and I think that it would benefit from the extra contrast.”

“Oh, um, sure. That sounds good, I think.” Her heart settled. The quiet resumed for several minutes, until suddenly, almost clumsily, Lexa continued.

“So, did you want to maybe get to know each other a little? I mean, I would like to know more about you, especially considering it seems we may be working together for a while.”

_Strange,_ Clarke thought. Lexa’s voice was rarely so uncertain. _Maybe it’s just school that gives her that confidence. She is pretty smart. Either way, if she’s uncertain, she’s probably just trying to be polite._

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not super interesting, anyway.”

“You seem pretty interesting to me,” said Lexa. She let her voice trail off so that Clarke would not notice her continuing, “More interesting than most.”

The girls got right to work when they arrived, having developed a bit of a rhythm in the quiet of the night before. Lexa sketched and painted over the simpler areas, giving them a steady handed base, and Clarke came after her, adding detail and depth. Now and then their hands or bodies brushed as they moved around the five-by-five foot canvas, and though Clarke had jumped and apologized the first time or two, she now allowed it calmly. While she worked, Lexa stole subtle glances at the softened features of her face, the smoothness of her cheeks, the highlights in her hair.

“If you were going into a battle,” she spoke up, “what kind of weapon would you use?”

Clarke looked up from the jar of paint she had been stirring, one brow raised.

Excuse me?”

“You know, like, if there were a war right now, and you could have any weapon you wanted at no cost, what would you choose?”

The blonde turned the thought over in her head for a moment, visibly conflicted.

“Why do you want to know?” She finally concluded that she was, in fact, skeptical of the other girl.

“We said we were going to get to know each other, right? We have to start somewhere.”

After another brief contemplation, Clarke replied.

“A gun.”

“Like a shotgun? Or a pistol?”

“A pistol,” she declared.

“Interesting choice. Why a pistol?” Lexa had put down her brush and turned to face the blonde.

“Because it’s probably the most lethal.”

Lexa fell quiet.

“I suppose that is true,” she said.

“So then,” Clarke cut in, afraid she had been too blunt, “what would you choose?”

“I’d probably prefer a sword, because of what it’s a symbol for. Valor, honor, discipline, skill, strength, courage: those are things I would want to be known for.”

“Of course.” Lexa could see that with those two words, Clarke had begun to rebuild the walls she had been working so hard to remove.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just not surprising. You’re not the only one who has ever told me I’m the kind to take the coward’s way out.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it that way at all, Clarke, of course not. How could I say something like that?” They could have heard a pin drop. “Has someone said that to you before?”

“No. Never mind it.”

And with that, Clarke was gone. For the rest of the evening, Lexa could hardly get a word from her partner, and now and then she noticed the blood leaving the blonde’s lips from the force of her bite. She considered asking again if there was something wrong, but knew that she would get no reply. There seemed to always be a tension to the girl, as if whenever she spoke, she was on the verge of tears. _Someday,_ Lexa vowed to herself, _I’ll find out what it is that’s bothering her. Someday I’ll find it, and I’ll destroy it._

 

* * *

 

 

She woke the next morning with the pounding headache she had anticipated the night before. Hours of lying awake, unable to escape her thoughts, had left her groggy and anxious even after managing a few hours of sleep. She turned off her alarm, pulled herself gingerly from her pillow, and stood, shielding her eyes from the light of the window. Lexa knew, as she pulled on jeans instead of leggings, that she had not intentionally turned down a morning run since before she had moved to Polis: something was wrong. She knew, having pondered a certain pair of sad blue eyes until she couldn’t keep her own open: something was wrong. And something would have to be done. But first, she would need a second opinion.

“Good morning Anya!” She smiled as she spoke cheerily into her phone, trying to mask the rasp of her sleepy voice.

“What’s wrong?” demanded the girl on the other line.

“Nothing, can’t I say good morning? I haven’t talked to you in days.”

“I’m not stupid, Lexa. It’s five in the morning, and you’re not running. You only call me this early if you wake up and something’s wrong. So what is it?”

“Damn, I miss how well you know me.” Her grin returned, this time genuine, as she packed up her backpack with her free hand.

“Spit it out, I’m tired and grumpy.”

“Okay, okay. Remember how I told you about the art project I’m doing with another girl in my class?”

“Yes. The girl whose paintings you think are almost as beautiful as she is.”

“Shut up,” Lexa blushed. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Well…well anyway, she keeps closing off. I’m trying to talk to her, but there’s something wrong, like I always say something that upsets her. I think maybe I hurt her somehow.” She could hear the rustle of blankets as Anya sat up from her bed.

“Didn’t you tell me when you two were first assigned as partners that she’s always like that in class? You were worried you wouldn’t even be able to communicate on the project.”

“Yeah, I did say that. She’s always like that in class, and she keeps ending up that way again by the end of the night. I don’t know what to do.”

“It seems like you already have done something. She ends up that way, ‘by the end of the night.’ Which means she’s not like that the whole time, right?”

“No…no, I guess she isn’t.” She shifted to hold the phone between her shoulder and her ear. As she wrapped her hair into a slightly disheveled bun, she added, “Yesterday she let me pick her up instead of walking over, and she even answered one of my weird get-to-know-you questions.” There was a groan from the other end of the phone.

“Oh God, Lex, tell me you didn’t ask her about weapons?”

“What, what’s wrong with that? Is there something wrong with that? Should I not have asked?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it besides being totally weird.” Anya snickered. “You’re one of a kind, Lexa.”

“Don’t I know it. Ever since I moved I’ve been reminded of that daily. People are nice around here, but rarely interesting. I miss home.”

“Home misses you too,” she paused, “but there’s nothing for you here. You’ve squeezed all the life you can get out of this place.”

“You know that’s not true, Anya, as much as I wish it was. Everything is back in Ton DC. Everyone. Which, ironically, is both the reason I had to leave, and the reason I usually wish I didn’t.”

“I did hear a ‘usually’ in there, if I’m not mistaken. As in not always?”

“Yeah…not always. There’s some good things about being here, I guess.” As she spoke, she set a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Well, like what? Tell me about them.”

“Why do I always have to tell you about them?”

“Because that’s how I get you to remember them. Come on, work with me, I’m trying to do the best friend thing.”

“Ugh,” Lexa sighed. “Okay. I like my apartment. And I like the woods behind the neighborhood. And I like that no one here knows anything about my dad, or about why I left. Or…or about Costia. And I like my job at the gym, training the little kids. And I like doing this art project with Clarke.”

“Oh please. We both know you like more than the art project, that’s why you called me. When are you going to ask her out?”

“Anya!” She nearly dropped the bowl of oats she had been measuring, exasperated. “I’m not going to ask her out! She’s only been over twice, and only for homework!”

Anya remained frustratingly casual.

“So invite her over to hang out, then! Even just as friends, if that makes you feel better. You’re never going to get anywhere just doing _homework_ with the girl.”

“Anya I can’t.”

“Well why not?”

Lexa leaned on her elbows against the counter, her head in her hands.

“Lexa?”

“I can’t put her in danger like that.” Her heartbeat pounded against her temples.

“So that’s what this is about,” Anya muttered, as much to herself as to Lexa.

“I uprooted my whole life to keep the people I care about out of danger. The minute I care about someone their life is ruined. I can’t do that to her.”

“Lexa stop it. That’s not true and you know it. You haven’t ruined anyone’s life; you left to get away from the person who ruined _yours_. You left because you needed to care about you. I know that better than anyone, because if you told me you were leaving for me, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“But it’s my fault that she…that Costia—“

“It’s _your dad’s_ fault,” Anya corrected. “It couldn’t possibly have been your fault. You weren’t even in the car.”

“Well maybe I should have been.” Her tone was meant to be cold, but Anya could hear her voice shaking just slightly.

“Lexa, do I need to get over there? Do I need to keep you home from school? Because I will.”

“No,” she said, feeling her walls crumbling.

“Good. You’re not doing this again, Lexa. It’s not your fault.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Say it.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not. You have to believe that, Lexa. You have to. It’s not your fault, and Costia would want you to know that.” On the other line, she heard a tiny, strangled sob as Lexa tried to fight her tears. It raked at Anya’s heart, but she continued. “She would want you to know that you don’t have to be so afraid to care again. Maybe even to love again, when you’re ready for that.”

“Do you think she would?” Lexa said, sniffling.

“I really do.” She heard Lexa take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m glad you called me.”

“Me too.” They sat for a moment in silence, each collecting themselves and listening to the other breathe. Finally, Anya spoke up.

“Are you still getting ready for school? Are you going to be on time?”

“Yes, Anya.” Her voice had regained its composure, and much of its steadiness.

“Good. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“She’s coming over to work on the write up with me. It’ll probably be our last meeting.”

“It sounds like you might need to hurry up and ask her out, then.”

“Anya,” Lexa pleaded.

“Ask her out, ask her over, whatever. It’s your choice, but tonight is your chance. If you think she’s upset, you should show her that you care about her. You don’t have to be afraid to. Let me know how it goes, okay? Call me when she leaves?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you then, Lex.”

“Thank you, Anya. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lexa. Always.”


	3. Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke comes over to finish the write up for their project, and the two learn a little bit more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers!
> 
> This weekend I was sick so I spent a LOT of time reading, and much of that reading was of other Clexa fics...so you could say that I've been doing extensive research on this topic. Hopefully it will be as worthwhile to you as readers as it was to me as a reader and a writer!
> 
> I have quite a bit of the next chapter finished already, so if this one gets a good response I might just have to upload before the standard week is up!
> 
> As always, comments of any kind are greatly appreciated. I love hearing what people want to see more or less of, what their favorite parts are, what I should work on, etc.
> 
> Thanks very much, and happy reading!

Clarke returned that afternoon to work on the write up for their painting, as planned. As reluctant as she seemed, she had accepted the fact that communication was necessary for this part of the project. Her walls opened up just slightly, and Lexa, sensing her reluctance, was careful not to pry at them too forcefully. She hoped to have a little bit of an opening left at the end of the night to try Anya's advice.

"Lexa Woods…and Clarke Griffin…" Lexa spoke as she scratched their names onto the top of the page. "We're going to need to name the painting eventually, but we can save that for last." They sat together on the couch, each leaning on one of the arms to face their partner. Lexa had made a special attempt that afternoon to look nice; she showered when she got home, having skipped it that morning; she applied a tasteful amount of makeup; and she even spritzed a little of her favorite perfume before leaving to pick up the blonde. She noticed that Clarke had put on a little more makeup than usual, as well, and wondered if it had any meaning.

"So, first question," she started. "Approximately how many hours did we spend on this painting?"

"Well there was Tuesday, I was over for about three hours then," Clarke offered. The words rolled smoothly off her tongue, and both girls felt their confidence rise.

"Yeah, I think it was about three hours once we got started. And yesterday we had a little longer since you didn't walk over. I would say about three and half. So six and a half total?" She filled in the blank space next to the first question. "Number two, what was each artist's major role in the painting? The real question is, what was my role?" She laughed.

"You did almost all of the base coats yourself, first of all," said the blonde. Lexa shrugged in response.

"I suppose I did do some of that. Your detailing is really what makes it though."

"Thanks." Clarke glanced over towards the kitchen, a light blush on her cheeks.

_Okay, that was good. I think she took that well. I'll just continue gently, _Lexa thought to herself.__

"So anyway, um, I guess I'll say that I did the base coats, and that you did the detailing and chose the color scheme. Does that sound good?"

"Sure," Clarke said softly. Her partner scanned the page. Green eyes hardened against the text.

"Ugh. I forgot that the colors we chose are supposed to represent us somehow," Lexa groaned, leaning her head on the back of the couch. "There's not really a way we can fix it now. I guess we'll just have to bullshit this question."

"I didn't forget," Clarke replied abruptly, her eyes snapping back to Lexa.

"You- you didn't?"

The blonde shook her head.

"Clarke, you're a genius!" Realizing her volume, she pulled back a little. "What do the colors mean?"

She kneeled on the ground next to the painting, which they had turned to face them. Waves of her hair fell over her face, and as she spoke, she pointed to different sections.

"The two blues are me. This darker one I think is called midnight, and I chose that one because the color of the sky at night has always been my favorite. So it represents the real me, the one that no one really sees. The lighter blue is about the color of my eyes, so it's sort of supposed to be the me that everyone sees, because they take me at face value." Lexa listened intently, completely shocked at the depth of the words flowing from her partner's mouth. _Where did all this come from? Yesterday she was so quiet…_

"This dark green here is the you that everyone sees, because I thought it looked strong. It represents your calm presence and your confidence, your steadiness. I chose the gold one you like so much for the you that people don't see, because um…you have these little flecks of gold in your eyes that you can only see in a certain light. It's supposed to show that you only let down your guard when the conditions are right."

Clarke looked up to meet Lexa's grin, which she had tried to cover with her hand. It was clear that she was blushing.

"I-I didn't think you'd even know what color my eyes are," she stuttered. "How do you? You never look me in the eye. Yesterday it was like you didn't want to see me at all. You barely said a word."

The blonde's shoulders sunk, and she averted Lexa's deep green gaze. She spoke cautiously, but thoughtfully. Lexa couldn't decide if the lagging was due to words getting caught in the girl's brain, or on the tip of her tongue.

"I guess…I guess I was just a little upset yesterday. Please don't blame yourself, it has nothing to do with you, really. It wasn't that I didn't want to see you…it was more that I didn't want you to see me." They paused for a moment, each taking in the other's presence.

"Sometimes when we're in class, I get tired of listening, and tired of staring at the walls…so I find a different view, but always one that won't look back. You get really focused in school," Clarke mumbled. "So now and then I observe. You've never looked back before, and I guess I'm just not used to it yet."

Heat rose to Lexa's face, brimming at her ears. She imagined Clarke in their classroom, in her dark skinny jeans and purple hoodie, her sneakered feet discharging nervous energy with incessant tapping. She imagined her chin resting in her hands, her elbows resting on her desk, and the blue of her eyes trained on the wall. She imagined the depths of those blue pools as they glanced sparingly over at her, knowing they would go unnoticed. Her heart rate climbed. _She's just not used to it yet._

"Does it make you uncomfortable when people look at you?" She murmured.

"Most people," the blonde stuttered, looking down. "Because I can tell by the way they look at me that most people don't care what's really there. They don't care enough to really know me; they think they know me just by looking at me. But…not everyone. Not you."

Lexa's breath hitched. Her fists clenched against the fabric of the couch to help contain whatever unintelligible excitement she feared she might vocalize, and finally, she regained command of a vocabulary.

"So, then…is it alright if I observe sometimes, too?"

"Yeah," Clarke answered, "I mean I would be a hypocrite to say no, wouldn't I?"

Lexa chuckled, and when their eyes met, the giggles wouldn't stop coming. Soon laughter stumbled out of the both of them, ceaselessly, until their sides ached and their faces burned and tears ran down their cheeks, nearly turning to steam against their skin. Nothing was all that funny, they both knew. But once they got to laughing, the tension that had surrounded them dissipated. The looseness of the air as they collected themselves kept their heads from spinning and drew their focus back to each other. Breathing heavily, Lexa spoke.

"So um…we just need a title now."

"Oh, yeah. A title. I've never been good at this part."

"Oh I've got it! How about 'Observations'?" She grinned at Clarke.

"Perfect."

 

* * *

 

 

The moment she returned from bringing Clarke home, she remembered what the melody of the blonde's laughter had caused her to forget: Anya's advice. At first she considered not calling as she had promised, but quickly changed her mind when she realized how much she had to talk about. Her bare feet padded against the smooth wood of her kitchen floor as she paced, waiting for an answer. When it finally came, the words were ready to burst from her throat.

"Hey Lex, how'd it-"

"I didn't do it," she said.

"You didn't ask her over? Why not? Did she close herself off again?"

"No, not at all. She was so different today! Open, even!"

"Really? Lexa, that's great! So why didn't you-"

"She told me about the colors she chose for our painting and how they each represented something important about one of us, and Anya, she knew me. She really knew me, and she said sometimes she watches me work in class when I'm concentrating really hard, and that I'm different from everyone else because I actually want to get to know her. She called me different, Anya, and strong and confident and steady, and she says I have little gold flecks in my eyes in a certain light. Anya, she's seen my eyes!"

"Are we still talking about the same Clarke?" Anya laughed.

"Yes, the same Clarke, only happy and open and observant, and oh my gosh, you should have heard her laugh!" Lexa was practically shouting.

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down, Lex. You got Clarke Griffin to laugh? A real laugh?"

"Yes! There was this moment when we just looked at each other, and it was all we could do not to explode. I don't know how long we laughed after that, but her laugh sounds like- I just- it made me forget everything. I forgot all about how scared I was to ask her over. In fact, I forgot it so much that I forgot to do the asking. I could listen to that laugh for days." The girls quieted, content for a moment with their thoughts and the sounds of the other's breathing.

"Anya," Lexa whispered, "I think I really like her."

 

* * *

 

 

When Lexa left for school the next morning, Friday, she gently wrapped the painting in garbage bags, but when she tried to fit it into her trunk, she couldn't manage. She settled on strapping it to the top of her car. Between her fear for the safety of her work, its casing crinkling and flapping in the wind as she drove, and the fear that the old, cryptic Clarke would return that day, she had gotten a little worked up on the drive to the school. The steering wheel was damp with the sweat of her shaking hands, and she struggled to keep her breathing under control.

_We're not going to do this today,_ she told herself. _We're not going to do this today. I can trust those straps because I bought them myself last summer for my bike, and if they can hold a bike, they can hold a painting, easily. And I can trust Clarke because…because…_ Feeling herself about to be thrown over the edge of panic, she began a desperate repetition of the phrase she knew she needed to believe. _I can trust Clarke. I can trust Clarke._ She mumbled it under her breath like a mantra, breathing in and out to the rhythm of her words.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she wiped her hands in turn on her pants, and took a swig of the water she kept in the center console. Before stepping out of the car, she closed her eyes. _I can trust Clarke. I let myself trust her with this partner project, and I was right to do that. Our project is great. Our project is safe. I can trust Clarke. I'm okay._ And with that, she opened the door, and let the sharpness of the winter air and morning sun shock her back into reality.

"It looks a lot bigger when it's not on the floor." The voice came from behind Lexa, and she turned to find Clarke coming around the car from the other side of the lot where a few buses sat being emptied of their teenage populations. Bits of Clarke's hair had stiffened into shining blonde icicles, as if still wet from a shower. Lexa smiled, feeling her own hair beginning to freeze, as well.

"It looks a lot bigger, and it's a lot more to handle. Even though it's light, it's really awkward." Clarke had agreed to come help her bring the painting in that morning. She replied to the text with a speed that made Lexa's stomach flutter.

"Well it's a good thing my bus got here on time, then, so you didn't have to wait in this weather. You're already shivering," the blonde noted. Lexa let her partner believe what she would about her residual anxiety.

They shuffled into the building with Lexa in the lead and the painting wobbling between them. The school was still fairly empty, and eerily quiet without the footsteps and chatter of hundreds of their peers.

"It's so weird to be here so early," said Lexa. "I'm used to waiting in my car."

"I like it," replied Clarke.

"Me too. Maybe I should come in with you more often."

"Yeah," she echoed, "maybe you should."

 

* * *

 

 

"You girls have done astonishing work!" Their art teacher, so young she preferred to be called Ms. Catherine, bubbled over with excitement.

"Especially you, Lexa, I've never seen you put so much passion into your reflection before! Tell me girls, would you like to work together again on the next assignment? We will have some practice in class next week, and then the projects will begin on Wednesday. I was going to let everyone choose pairs this time, anyway, since this project may get a little more personal."

Clarke gnawed at her nails. Lexa spoke up, noticing her discomfort.

"What do you mean by that, Ms. Catherine?"

"Our next pieces are going to be portraits. We've done a lot of work on symbolism, and I think it's time we move on to human features. Self-portraits might be too complex at this stage of the game, so everyone will need a partner."

"What do you think, Clarke? Do you still want to work together?"

"I mean, we're already used to working together, so yeah, that sounds good."

"Alright then, it's settled! I'm so glad you two are working well as a pair!" Ms. Catherine gave an overly enthusiastic smile and turned towards another student who had wandered to her desk with a question.

"So, Wednesday for our first meeting?"

"Sure," Clarke said, shoving both hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Cautiously, Lexa allowed the corners of her lips to rise towards her ears.


	4. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls hang out at Lexa's to celebrate the first snow day of the new year! A little bit of fluffy content for my lovely readers who have been through a lot this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> SPOILER WARNING FOR THE 1OO
> 
> I do address episode 307 in the author's note.
> 
> I would just like to start by saying that if you are in mourning right now, I am right there with you. If you're a broken little Clexakru, or really a sad anybody for that matter, I feel for you and my PM box, my twitter (chloe3spade), and my email (chlo3spade at gmail) are 100% open all the time for literally anything you want or need to say, to me, or just to someone in general. (Email is fastest way to contact at the moment.) Especially right now, because as we all know, Lexa Deserved Better. But her story is not ours. Queer women (and queer people in general) can love just as deeply and purely and live just as happy a life as any other human on this earth, and each and every one of us has just as much a right. Our fight is not over. So please, if you are struggling, don't hesitate to send me a message, and I will be there.
> 
> This chapter is short and late, which I apologize for profusely, but I really needed the time to collect myself and my thoughts after 307. However, this chapter is fluff centered just for you guys, and this week's chapter should be out early to make up for my lateness!
> 
> Also, important: I WILL BE CONTINUING THIS STORY in spite of the events of this past week, and I will likely even have new Clexa and/or Lexark fics out after this one is finished. I am still hardcore Clexakru and I will not be leaving this fandom in the dust. I honestly can't believe the responses this story has gotten so far and I am screaming internally because I am so lucky to have an audience in the Clexakru community. You guys mean a lot to me already, and our ride has just begun!
> 
> Sorry for the long winded note, but thanks for sticking with me, and please check out the end note too because I still have a few important issues to address. I hope you enjoy the chapter, please let me know what you think!

On Monday, at approximately five in the morning, the high school sent out a mass email that brought joy to the hearts of their students. Monday would be their first snow day of the second semester. The snow had fallen in puffy clumps and had just begun to melt when Lexa stuck her head out the window. A fat drop fell from the roof and splattered in her face, but the fresh white morning was so beautiful that she didn't care. School had been cancelled as a precaution against the roads freezing over, but for the moment, there was more slush than ice. The weather was not cooperating for Lexa's run that morning, but that was fine, as she had another idea.

**Mon 8:43am: Lexa**

Hey, do you have plans for the day? I mean, when you wake up.

**Mon 8:43am: Lexa**

I guess I can actually assume that you won't because we were supposed to be in school today…So, did you want to come hang out at my house for the day? I'm probably just going to be watching Netflix, but even that's better with someone else.

**Mon 8:44am: Lexa**

Oh, and I have a frozen pizza for lunch!

**Mon 9:10am: Clarke**

U had me at pizza.

**Mon 9:14am: Lexa**

On my way! :)

When Lexa arrived, Clarke stood in the driveway waiting. She wore skinny jeans, winter boots, and one of her usual zippered hoodies, with no jacket. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and her hands rested in her pockets.

"Are you crazy?" Lexa laughed as the girl got in on the passenger's side.

"It's not that cold."

"So yes, you are crazy." She looked over at the blonde before backing up the car and realized, to her surprise, that Clarke was smiling. She stopped the car abruptly right there at the end of the driveway. Clarke's smile faded and she snapped her head towards Lexa, concerned.

"What's wrong? Why'd you stop?"  
"You smiled!" Clarke blushed at her words.

"I did?"

"You did! And I've never seen you smile before! I mean I might have when you were over the other day and we were laughing, but I couldn't see much of anything when I was laughing that hard." Lexa was brimming with joy.

"Oh," the blonde laughed, "well um, you're kinda funny. I had to smile." It was Lexa's turn to blush. She turned away to continue backing out onto the road, and the girls sat quietly, peacefully the rest of the way to the apartment.

* * *

"This is so weird," Clarke said as she kicked off her shoes near the door.

"What's weird?"

"Being here. I mean, like not for a project. I haven't gone to someone's house just to hang out in…God, I don't know how long. Definitely not since I moved here."

"You haven't? Why not?" Lexa had started popping popcorn in the kitchen.

"Well, I don't exactly like anyone here, to start with."

"I can't blame you for that," she laughed, reaching up to get two glasses from the cabinet. "I don't really care about anyone here, either."

"Even if I wanted to though, my mom…she'd never let me. She doesn't actually know that I've been coming here." Clarke sat cautiously on the couch, reaching to bite her nails.

"Wait," Lexa stopped, hands on the counter. "Your mom doesn't know you've been coming over? She doesn't even know you're here now?"

"No," Clarke shrunk back into the couch. "That's why I always have to be home before she is."

The microwave called for Lexa's attention, but as she opened it and poured the steaming popcorn into a big bowl, she kept looking back at Clarke.

"Why doesn't your mom let you go out? Is she super protective?"

"You could say that," she mumbled.

"Well that sucks. What if she met me? Do you think she would let you come over then?"

"Definitely not. You live alone. There's no way she'd consider sending me to an unsupervised household. She makes me feel like such a baby sometimes."

Lexa sat down next to the blonde, setting the popcorn and drinks on the coffee table in front of them.

"I'm sure she means well," she said, her voice soft. "Most people have a good reason for doing things, even if they're the only one who thinks it's a good reason."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

* * *

"Oh my God, that movie was so funny! I can't believe I've never seen it before! Where did you find it?"

"My friend Anya from my old school showed it to me," Lexa answered, grinning. "If I had my way, I would have brought her out here with me. I bet you would have loved her."

Clarke smiled back, "She must have been pretty cool to know about movies like _that_. I haven't laughed so hard since we named our painting."

"Well you should laugh more often," Lexa replied. She immediately regretted having spoken so quickly, and turned away, blushing. "Do you um, do you want to have lunch now?" She stood up and walked towards the kitchen with the empty popcorn bowl in her hands.

"Sure, can I help?"

"There's not much to do, I just have to stick it in the oven. Did you want to choose another movie? Or should we do something else?"

"I don't know," Clarke shrugged. "Is there anything you wanted to do?"

"Nothing in particular." The brunette bent down to put the pizza in the oven, hidden by the counter. After setting a timer, she came back to the couch. Clarke sat facing her with one knee pulled towards her chest, her chin resting on it.

"Nothing in particular sounds good," she said, the corners of her lips sliding up into a smile. Lexa couldn't help but grin in return.

"So, your favorite view is of the night sky," she mused, thinking about their painting.

"Yes. And has been for as long as I can remember."

"May I ask why? If there is a specific reason."

Clarke nodded, shifting in her space on the couch.

"I remember camping a lot when I was really little, just me and my parents. We spent a lot of time laying in our sleeping bags and staring up, talking quietly, laughing loudly. So I guess you could say the stars are, to me, what it feels like to be together. To be happy. And even though now my dad's dead, and my mom's always working, the stars are still there, always. I know the stars would never leave me alone…even if they wanted to." The blonde began to raise her fingers to her lips, but Lexa's hand caught hers. She held the hand gently, uncoiling her fingers and examining them, each one raw and ripped.

"Clarke, doesn't this hurt?"

"Sometimes," she said, not willing to look into the eyes that questioned her.

"Why do you let it get this bad?" There was a genuine concern in Lexa's voice. Her brow furrowed, and the other girl could see her walls coming down. She felt hers start to crumble with them.

"I have to. It keeps me here, keeps my head out of space," she managed.

"Keeps you grounded?" Lexa offered.

"Yeah, sure. It keeps me grounded," she agreed.

"Isn't there something you could do that doesn't hurt you?"

"This hurts much less than the alternative."

"The alternative?" Lexa spoke, her voice soft.

"I hope you'll never have to know about the alternative, Lexa."

* * *

One pizza later, the girls were laughing again, now lounging on the rug between the coffee table and the television.

"Seriously? You just jumped the hurdle and kept running?"

"It barely slowed me down, anyway. A leap is essentially one long, slow stride. It just gave me momentum. I got first place, but I suspect they may have given it to me even if the other girl had caught up."

"No way, Lexa, you're bluffing!" Clarke giggled.

"On my honor, Clarke Griffin, I won that race by jumping that hurdle before the officials could realize they had forgotten to remove it from the track. And then I went on to qualify for states at the next meet," she grinned.

"What a show off!" The blonde, who had been laying on her stomach, rolled onto her back snickering at the other girl. Lexa laughed too, and threw a piece of crust playfully. Clarke sat up, grabbed the crust from her stomach, and ripped off a bite, smiling all the while. She saw Lexa's exaggerated grin fade to a small, curious turn of the lips.

"What is it?" she questioned.

"Your hood- you took your hood off," Lexa stammered, a slight blush on her cheeks. Although its removal had been unintentional, Lexa knew its significance. The accidental slipping of the hood had meant that the blonde had been too comfortable in the moment to monitor it.

"Oh," she muttered, reaching up to run a few fingers through tousled hair, "yeah, I guess I did. Is that okay?"

"It's…it's more than okay," she breathed. She stared, taking in the long waves of blonde, the streaks that must have been highlighted by the sun long ago, the curve of her ears beneath the locks. It took Lexa a conscious effort not to reach forward and brush with the back of her hand the soft pink cheek that turned almost imperceptibly from her gaze. "You don't have to hide from me, Clarke."

"Good," she spoke gently, "because I'm starting to think I couldn't if I tried."

For a moment, there was silence as each searched the other's eyes, trying to decipher the emotions that were their own mirrored in the other's face. It was Clarke who snapped first to attention.

"What time is it?"

Lexa glanced around, almost confused, before finding her phone on the coffee table.

"Wow. It's three thirty-nine," she said.

"I should- I should probably get home. In case they let mom out early for the storm," Clarke mumbled.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'll get my keys." They gathered up their dishes and coats quickly and quietly, not allowing themselves to meet the other's eyes.

During the ride back, neither spoke, until the car pulled into Clarke's driveway.

"Lexa?"

"Yes, Clarke?"

"Thank you, um, for having me over. I had a lot of fun. Maybe, we could do it again some time?"

Lexa grinned.

"Absolutely," she replied.

The blonde smiled back, closed the car door, and continued up the driveway and into her house. Lexa remained in park, watching her go. When the front door closed, she leaned heavily back against her seat and closed her eyes.

"Holy shit," she whispered. "This is real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note Continued:
> 
> I'm back! Again, sorry for the length, but A LOT is going on in the Clexa community right now, so there is a lot to talk about.
> 
> To start: Some authors that I follow on here and on fanfiction.net (which I do use by the way, under the same name) have created secondary Tumblrs for their audience and their fanfiction writings. They answer questions, chat with readers, post Clexa/Lexark things, and some even post pictures or songs that relate to or make them think of the story. I've really enjoyed visiting their blogs, and I am on Tumblr all the time, so I'm wondering if that's something that you guys might be interested in? If you would be interested in a Tumblr about this story (and eventually future stories), please let me know in a review or a PM, or by emailing me at chlo3spade at gmail. That is my fanfic specific email so it is also always open for any questions, comments, feedback, emotional outbursts, or friendly chats! I'd love to get to know you guys!
> 
> Secondly: If you are on Twitter, PLEASE continue to tag posts with LGBT FANS DESERVE BETTER, and to tweet about and donate to the Trevor Project, especially on Thursday nights before, during, and after the show. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, search the tag on twitter and you'll get lots of examples and explanations. Or, email me if you'd like the long version.) We made a huge impact this past week, making it to the number four trending topic worldwide, and raising $30,000 for the Trevor Project, which is a suicide prevention and awareness charity aimed towards LGBTQIA+ youth. We were even joined by non-clexa shippers from the 1OO community, other fandoms, and LGBT rights supporters across the world. BBC wrote a news article about our noise! We are raising our voices and being heard! This our chance to make a change, friends. Our fight is not over, so don't give up now.
> 
> Thanks so much readers! Love you all, keep fighting!


	5. Timing is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Clarke and Lexa's struggles behind closed doors.  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Content dealing with depression, anxiety, and panic attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the mostly-on-time update I promised!
> 
> Thanks so much for the really positive response to Chapter 4! Hearing from you guys honestly makes my day and is a great motivator. Keep the feedback coming!
> 
> Before you begin reading, please be aware that this chapter has a TRIGGER WARNING because it does deal with a little depression, and quite a bit of anxiety, including *spoiler but important to know* a panic attack. Please take care of yourself and avoid exposing yourself to these things if they will bother you.
> 
> A few of you have been inquiring about Clarke and Lexa's complicated pasts...this chapter is definitely an important piece to their discoveries about each other, even though it is just the tip of the ice burg, so I hope you enjoy it :) More to come!
> 
> I have a little business to cover at the end of the chapter, so don't forget to check out the notes at the bottom!
> 
> Thanks again, and happy reading!

"Clarke."

She rolled over, grumbling, and pulled the blankets over her reeling head.

"Clarke, it's time to go. You've laid in bed so long that you don't even have time to shower anymore. If you don't hurry up, you'll miss the bus."

"Mom, I'm staying home," she whined.

"No you're not."

"I don't feel well," she said, muffled by the blankets. She could feel the burning beginning in her eyes.

"I know you're not sick, Clarke, let's go!"

"Mom, it's bad today! I can't go!" Abby Griffin, hearing the break in her daughter's voice as she shouted, hurried to the back of the house, where the girl sat up in her bed. She was sobbing, her face buried in her knees and the blankets covering them. Abby knelt next to her daughter and wrapped her tightly in her arms.

"I can't do it, I can't go," she mumbled through her tears.

"Clarke, I know you're upset. I know you are. Sweetie, look at me. Please," her mother whispered gently in her ear. She lifted her head.

"I'm sorry that today has had a rough start for you, I really am. But I just can't let you stay home."

"But Mom, I-"

"I can't leave you home alone, Clarke. Especially if today is going to be a bad day. I need to know that you're safe."

"But I'll be better if I'm alone," she begged, "it'll be easier, I'll-"

"I can't trust that, Clarke! I can't trust you to take care of yourself on a day like this!" Abby's throat started to tighten, and she too was holding back tears.

"Yes you can! It's been almost a year since-"

"Clarke," she cupped her daughter's face in her hands, calling back her focus. The glossy blue eyes scanned her face quickly before settling on the brown ones before them. "I'm not going to leave you alone. I need you to go to school so that I know you will be safe. Please, honey. I will drive you. We'll clean you up and I'll drive you, and I'll call it a day early so I can come pick you up. We'll spend the afternoon together, okay? I'll be here." Her thumb wiped a tear from Clarke's cheek.

"I just don't want to see people today," she whimpered. "I don't want them to look at me."

"No one's going to look at you any differently than they usually look at you, honey."

"I don't want them to look at me at all. I don't want them to see me. I want to disappear." Another drop fell like lava down Abby's hands. She pulled Clarke close to her chest and smoothed the hair on the back of her head.

"What if I don't want you to disappear?" She whispered more to herself than to Clarke, but held her still tighter as she did.

_I know you don't._ She pulled back from her mother, drawing a deep, shaky breath. She knew she would have to do it for her mother's sake, if for no other reason. As much as Abby tried to mask it, Clarke could see the fear written into the lines of her face.

"I guess...I guess I can try it today."

Abby gave a half smile, brushing stray tears from her own eyes, and stood, holding a hand out for Clarke. She took it.

"Thank you, honey. I'm really proud of you." Her bony fingers clasped around her daughter's cheeks once more, and a gentle kiss planted on her forehead.

Clarke shuffled towards the bathroom, her feet cinder blocks beneath her. The weight of the hopelessness that encased her aching body when she woke had dwindled to a singular ball of dread in her stomach, ebbing away at her insides. Today was no particular day, she knew. Today was nothing special, but that feeling of defeat had crept back into her bones and chosen today to be heavy and hindering and sore. Her mother followed her into the room, leaning against the door frame to watch as she gathered her knotted hair into a loose braid down her right shoulder. She could feel the eyes on her as she brushed her teeth, feel the sting as they watched with pity and subconscious judgement.

"Stop looking at me," she snarled. Her mother turned her head.

When she was dressed in her usual skinny jeans and sweatshirt, she flipped up the hood and stuffed her feet into winter boots. She refused the heavier jacket from Abby's hands, but begrudgingly dry swallowed the little round pill she offered. Bupropion. Required, twice daily, if she was to continue attending school regularly. Most days it kept the demons at bay, but today, Clarke knew, it was likely to be useless.

 

* * *

 

 

"Clarke Griffin?"

"She's not here today, Miss Catherine." Lexa called back tentatively.

"I see. Have you heard from her? Is she sick?"

"No, I haven't heard from her since Friday." Tension rose in her chest. Perhaps Clarke was sick, just out with a cold, or at an appointment of some sort. But she hadn't contacted Lexa about it, or at all, since class on Friday morning. _Would she tell me if she wasn't going to be in class? If something was wrong?_

"Very well, then. Timothy Howitt?" The bubbly roll call continued.

As every morning, Lexa reached into her bag, feeling the zipper graze her skin as she pulled out her composition book, a black felt tip pen, and a glass water bottle. These three objects decorated her desk in every class, sometimes accompanied by other supplies, but never replaced, until the notebook was full or the pen gave out. Which occurred frequently. Her supplies were classroom necessities, but also a routine. A comfort, even. She ran her hand over the notebook's tattered cover, hoping to find a bit of that solace, and wondering what had happened to the quiet presence that was missing from beside her.

Class began with no sign of Clarke. Lexa felt the pierce of Miss Catherine's voice against her ears, but the shrill young woman may as well have been speaking a different language. She picked at the flaking corner of her notebook, watched Miss Catherine's gleaming blue heels pace across the front of the classroom, and thought immediately of Clarke's eyes.

_What is she looking at right now? The ceiling in her bedroom? The sterile white counters in her dentist's office? The road through the passenger's side window? Yes, that's probably it. She's probably just running late. Maybe even literally running. She walks to school, sometimes, right? She's probably looking at the ground beneath her feet. Those sneakers against the asphalt. But…what if it's an accident? What if it's her face against the asphalt?_ She unwillingly conjured the image of Clarke's ashen cheek, scraped and bloodied and full of grit.

The nausea began. Miss Catherine's voice continued, each word another weight in Lexa's stomach.

_She's fine. She wasn't in an accident. She walks around town all the time, she knows to look both ways, and where the crosswalks are. She's fine. She would never walk into the road unless the cars had a red light. Unless…unless there was a red light, and the car just didn't stop…_

"M-miss Catherine?" Lexa interjected, her trembling hand rising. The woman halted mid-sentence and turned towards the brunette. She saw the heat gathered in the girl's cheeks, the dismay written in her eyes, and the question that snagged between her lips.

"Yes, Lexa, go ahead. Do you want someone to go with you?"

Lexa shook her head and stood quickly. For a moment she clutched her desk as the world around her spun, but soon she felt her gelatin legs carrying her out into the hallway.

Her safe haven was the two-stalled bathroom in the foreign language hall: a small, quiet, solitary corner of the school. If she could make it there, she could ride out an episode in peace. On the way, she kept her eyes in focus by counting the squeaks of her running shoes against the dusty tile. _Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Six-_ She nearly collided with another human while turning the first corner. A student, she could tell, from the beaten up Converse sneakers. _Converse sneakers._

"Lexa?"

"C-clarke," she gasped between labored breaths. "You're-"

"What's going on? You're shaking." Her voice melted through the cloud in front of Lexa's eyes. It was warm in her ears.

"I um-I need to-the bathroom-"

"Okay, I'll take you. Here." Clarke's words came as softly and gently as the hand that snaked into Lexa's. Lexa, to the surprise of both girls, gripped it like a python.

In the bathroom, Lexa began her remedy regime. Clarke sat in silence, guarding the locked door, as she paced across the room with her hands clasping the back of her head. The blonde could see muscles tensing in the other girl's calves, in her shoulders, in her back, at her temples. She ached to help the brunette, to offer some scrap of comfort, but knew that Lexa knew best for herself. She knew how to face it on her own. The shallow, shivering breaths continually rang through the room, even as Lexa froze in place.

"Lexa?"

She crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. Clarke swore she could feel the bruises in her own knees and elbows as her partner's thudded against the polished tile. In one of her own heartbeats, though perhaps a few of Lexa's, she was at the brunette's side, pulling the shuddering body towards her own.

_I can't see anything. I can't see. I'm blacking out. This must be a blackout. I haven't blacked out in months. Is someone touching me?_

Slowly, Lexa's vision faded back in patches, as well as her awareness of her surroundings. In front of her were the pipes beneath one of the bathroom's two sinks. Crossed at her chest were her arms, as if her fall had been a ride down a water slide. Beneath her body was Clarke's, warm and alive and breathing. One of the blonde's arms held around her waist, rubbing in soothing circles, and the other wrapped around her left shoulder, ending with a hand tangled in her hair. Lexa gradually realized that she was not just being held, but cradled by Clarke, and that every breath was becoming more and more manageable. The pressure of Clarke's arms contained and steadied her. She found her aching muscles relaxing and her body sinking into the blonde.

"Thank you," she breathed. Her lips grazed the pale bare skin of the shoulder where Clarke's sweatshirt hung loosely. Clarke shivered at the touch.

"Of course," she replied, giving Lexa a reassuring squeeze before releasing her.

"So...what happened? Should I bring you to the nurse?"

"No, no I'm fine." Reluctantly, she stood and brushed off her knees.

"But you passed out, Lexa. Shouldn't you at least talk to the nurse?"

"I didn't pass out, just blacked out. I could still hear and feel everything. It just happens sometimes when I hyperventilate for too long; my vision clouds, and I get a little dizzy." She wet a paper towel and pressed it against her cheeks, cooling them quickly. It was then, looking in the mirror, that she noticed the thin black streaks down her face. She had been crying, and she hadn't even noticed. _Damn. I really liked my eyeliner today._

"So then...this has happened before?"

Another detail Lexa had missed until that moment was the genuine concern- even worry- spread across Clarke's eyes. She had never seen Lexa's episodes before.

"Clarke...I'm so sorry you had to see this. I-"

"No, you don't have to apologize. You couldn't even control it. I'm glad I was here. I'm glad I was here to help you, I mean if I wasn't- if _someone_ wasn't- anything could have happened. You might have split your head open on one of these sinks, you might not have even made it to the bathroom."

"I'm sorry I made you worry," she whispered.

"Did something happen in class?"

"Well...sort of. It may have happened anyway, I don't know. Sometimes it just happens, without warning, for no reason at all. This is not at all the way I wanted things to happen. I mean, I had wanted to tell you before you had to witness any of this."

"Lexa, what is it?"

"I have an anxiety disorder. That was a panic attack. I used to see a therapist, but I haven't been since I moved out here. I have emergency meds but I haven't been bringing them with me anywhere because I haven't needed to take them for quite a while; I've been managing with just coping strategies. I guess I should start carrying them again."

"You said it might have happened, 'anyway?' Did something trigger this one? Do you want to talk about it?"

Lexa thought back to the moment in the classroom when she felt the dread and terror enveloping her. Back to Clarke's bloody face, helpless on the pavement.

"No...I'd rather not. We should get to class."

"Oh, yeah."

"Shit. Everyone's going to turn and stare when we walk in. You're extremely late, and I left in a rush. They're going to be nosy."

"Would that make you anxious again?" Clarke mumbled over her nails.

"A little, but I think I can handle it now," she replied. "You?"

For a moment Clarke had forgotten that Lexa was aware of her aversion to prying eyes, and of the tell tale sign that her mind was racing. She dropped her hand to her side. _This morning can't matter right now. I have to go, for Lexa._

"I'll go in first," she said, a new-found determination stirring in the phrase.

"Clarke, you don't have to do that. Don't worry about it, I'll-"

"No, it's okay. I want to." She smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"You said I don't have to hide in front of you, right?"

"Yeah, of course you don't. But you're still wearing that hood."

Clarke blushed, but kept her eyes locked on Lexa's.

"This isn't for you. It's for them. So since I'm the one with the shield, I'll go first." Lexa smirked at that, so she continued. "Besides, it's not the first or the last time I'll be coming in late. They'll get used to it."

"If you don't mind me asking...why were you late? Is everything okay?" Her voice was nearly a whisper, and her brow furrowed.

_Is she worried about me? I can't feed the anxiety. She needs a break._

"Of course, I'm fine. I just overslept and got a speech about it from my mom. Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for me, I'm here now. So let's head out before we miss the entire period."

And with this concocted confidence, Clarke led the way into the classroom. As anticipated, a few heads did turn, but Miss Catherine's hand didn't hesitate across the board. Even those who did steal a glance couldn't look long before being drawn back to their note taking. The girls took their seats on the far side of the room, and the remaining fifteen minutes passed as always: Lexa scrambled to catch up with her notes, and Clarke gazed blankly out the nearby window. When the bell rang, Miss Catherine chirped over scraping chairs and chattering students.

"Don't forget your sketch pads tomorrow, everyone, we will be beginning our projects! Oh, Lexa and Clarke, if you two will stay a moment, I'll go over what you missed." They nodded, and she wandered over. "Glad to see you recovered well, dear," she spoke, her voice deliberately hushed. "Was this one triggered? Would you like to talk about anything?"

"No, no, Miss Catherine, everything's fine." Lexa spoke quickly, tucking back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Clarke caught herself watching the slender fingers in their gentle movements.

"Are you sure? Not stressing over the work load?"

"Not at all. I'm excited about this project. About working with Clarke," she smiled. The blonde turned away quickly and made herself busy packing her bag to hide the redness of her cheeks.

"Oh good. I trust you can get her the notes then, since you seem to be caught up?"

She nodded and started towards the door.

"Bye, Clarke. I'll text you, okay?"

The blonde waved back, admittedly a little flustered.

"Here's a sample of the technique we went over today. Just try to get in a little practice tonight if you can." Miss Catherine offered a sheet of paper.

She accepted the page, snapping back into reality.

"Did you want me to do a painting analysis like last time? Since I basically missed class?"

"That won't be necessary. You're certainly not behind in this class, anyway. Consider this one a freebie."

"Okay," she said with a half grin, "thanks."

"Thank you, Clarke." A warm, knowing quirk crept to the woman's lips. "It seems you caught her in time to help out. Often if she has to leave class for an attack, she doesn't come back."

Her words raised vague memories in Clarke from before she and her partner had been introduced. Memories of the studious brunette standing suddenly and hurrying from the classroom, usually after a nod of approval from the teacher. Memories of the now familiar flush to her cheeks, the wild darting of her shining eyes. Memories not just from art class, but from Algebra II last year, as well. She had been curious. Never was she curious enough, however, to investigate a situation that involved strangers. No, strangers were, by Clarke's policy, to be ignored.

"Yeah, I guess I found her just in time." _Or maybe it's her that found me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> You may recall that I asked in last chapter's author's note if anyone would be interested in following a Tumblr blog about Clexa, Lexark, this story/future stories, and my personification of its characters. This would be a place where readers could ask questions related to myself or anything above, pictures/gifs/music/text would be posted frequently pertaining to the things above, and where I might even post sneak peaks on occasion. I haven't gotten any responses regarding this inquiry yet, but I know it has only been a few days, so I will wait for now and just remind you again. If you would be interested in following this kind of Tumblr, please please let me know! You can contact me about this through a review, a private message, or through my email: chlo3spade at gmail. That is my fanfiction/AO3 specific email, and it goes through to my phone, so it is always completely open for any questions, comments, emotional outbursts, or chats! Seriously, I love hearing from readers!
> 
> And finally, an update on the Clexakru Twitter battles, in case you haven't heard already:
> 
> We successfully world-wide trended a different catch phrase on Twitter every night for ten straight days after Lexa's death. We used things like "LGBT FANS DESERVE BETTER," "MINORITIES ARE NOT DISPOSABLE," and "CW STOP JASON ROTHENBERG" to help get our point across. If you want to get involved in trends, they usually last from about 6pm-midnight EST. Our little revolution has been covered by journalists all over the world, including BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation, a huge one in the United States and United Kingdom, for those who may not know), and the Sydney Morning Herald in Australia! Also, we have now raised over $40,000 for the Trevor Project, to support suicide prevention and awareness for LGBTQIA+ teens. How amazing is that? Keep it up friends!
> 
> Just a reminder for those of you who do choose to participate: Lexa is our martyr. Some might call her a "mascot," or a "Mockingjay" (some have suggested Mocking-gay, which I find extremely clever). However, her death is NOT our main concern in this battle. Her death was just the last straw that led to it. Our battle is for all minorities, whether it be by race, sexual orientation, gender identity, some combination of these, or something else completely. We are not fighting for invincibility in television programs. We are not fighting for some required quota of minority characters to appear in every program released. We are fighting for equal, valuable representation in all types of media; we are fighting against the roles, abuse, and/or deaths of minority characters being used as a stepping stool for the non-minority main characters' development with such persistence as it has until today.
> 
> That being said, we have a reasonable cause. Some might call it unnecessary or unimportant. That is their opinion. Regardless, we must continue to be reasonable, mature, specific, and persistent. We must respond to criticism with the intention of teaching others of our goals, and not with malice or dismissal. Ignore them, if need be. Be tastefully sassy if it contributes to communicating your point. But don't shove things down people's throats, especially if they're just some angry ass hat on Twitter. Some people just aren't willing to listen, and the more we push, the worse position we put ourselves in for credibility. Also, I have been told by some of my own biggest non-fans on Twitter that giving a wide variety of examples of mistreated minorities in media will be helpful to our audience. We need to remind people that Lexa is a symbol for a whole community of victims.
> 
> If you're still completely lost on all this, and would like to know more, we now have a website equipped with many articles for educating ourselves and others on the issue. Visit "wedeservedbetter. com" and link it in your posts!
> 
> Thanks again for listening to my long rants and reading my work! You mean the world to me!


	6. Trust In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls begin portraits at Lexa's house, and Lexa's biggest secret is revealed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I got excited!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience everyone! We will now return to our usual once a week programming. I'm not sure what day of the week just yet, but for today, I hope you enjoy chapter 6!
> 
> PS: I opened up a tumblr for anyone who is interested! I haven't posted much yet, but I have plans for it to include all kinds of "behind the scenes" fun! My url is chloelovesclexa. Can't wait to hear from everyone! :)

The tension in the car was wound so tightly that the slam of the door startled Abby. Still, she said nothing as her daughter fastened her seat belt and raised her head expectantly. She nudged the gas, and they glided off through the bustling parking lot.

"How was your half day?"

Abby glanced at her daughter, lifting an eyebrow at her cheerful tone.

"Slow today. Lucky, too, because they let me off early without a fuss." She paused, assessing the costs and benefits of the next three words. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Clarke answered without hesitation. "Classes went well; I got my test back in chemistry and it's an A minus. And tomorrow I start a portrait study in Miss Catherine's class."

"That sounds wonderful, Clarke. So, did your meds kick in? You seem to be doing quite a bit better than this morning," she pressed.

"I wouldn't say it's the meds, but I'm definitely feeling better. I, um, I got to help out a friend this morning, when she really needed someone. It kinda reminded me that I can't disappear anymore...things are different here."

"A friend? Who is it?" Abby tried not to let herself sound as eager as she was. This was the first time Clarke had spoken of anyone as a friend since the Griffins moved to Polis a little over a year ago. She worried about many things for her daughter, but most of all, she worried that she would never reopen herself to others. Teenagers especially need friends to help them struggle through the rougher parts of life, and having seen Clarke hurt by everyone she used to trust back home in Arkadia, Abby wondered if she would ever see her daugher recover.

"Her name's Lexa." The name tasted sweet in her mouth. "We got paired up for our last art project, the painting I showed you pictures of, and we decided to work together again. She's very focused, and headstrong, and we work well together. We'll be working on portraits of each other starting tomorrow."

"Portraits, hm? Sounds difficult. Will you two need to work outside of class?"

"Well," Clarke started thoughtfully, "we won't be required to. But it would be really helpful to have the extra time and maybe get ahead." Her eyes darted from her lap to her mother's face, grasping for some hint of a willing expression.

"Would you like to have her over this week? I have to stay late tomorrow night to make up for today, but say, Thursday afternoon? I'd love for her to stay for dinner, to get to know her a bit. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Clarke pulled back, pocketing her excitement. "That would be great, Mom. Thank you so much. I'll text her when we get home." Try as she did, she couldn't hold back a spreading grin. Abby, confused, shocked, and excited, let her smile mirror her daughter's.

* * *

**Tues 2:54pm: Lexa**

Hey Clarke :)

Clarke's heart skipped a beat when her phone finally buzzed against her bed. She scrambled to reply, but promised herself she wouldn't rush the invitation. Lexa had said she wanted to text her, and it was likely that she had a reason. Something to say.

**Tues 2:55pm: Clarke**

Hi Lexa!

**Tues 2:57pm: Lexa**

I just wanted to thank you again for staying with me today. It really means a lot, more than I can explain.

**Tues 2:59pm: Clarke**

Of course. You don't even have to thank me. I'm just glad resorting to my instincts was helpful and not...idk, intrusive. Or awkward.

**Tues 3:03pm: Lexa**

Yeah...about that, Clarke. What you did there...no one's ever done that before. I've never wanted anyone to touch me during an attack, so everyone has always stayed away. But what you did, I've never recovered so quickly and smoothly like that. Especially not when I've blacked out. Whatever instinct it was that told you to do that, it was really right.

**Tues 3:07pm: Clarke**

Do you want to come over after school on Thursday?

**Tues 3:08pm: Clarke**

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to change the subject. I'm really REALLY glad that I caught you when I did, and that my crazy instincts were useful, and that you're okay now. And...and I hope that if it ever happens again that I can be there for you. But um, I told my mom that I had made a new friend at school, and that we would be working on the portraits together, and she offered to let you come over to work on the project and maybe to stay for dinner? I'm just really excited to tell you, because this means we can finally quit being secretive about hanging out

**Tues 3:10pm: Lexa**

I would love to! Please thank your mother for me!

Clarke's blonde locks splayed out as she fell back onto her bed, absolutely giddy.

* * *

"So, today's the day, huh?" Lexa squirmed in the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Clarke murmured. "Have you ever done a portrait before?"

"Are you kidding?" She laughed as she turned into the parking lot of her unit. "I've never done _art_ until this semester. I know I won't be able to do you justice."

The blonde unbuckled her seat belt and reached for her bag in the back seat, aiming to hide the pink of her cheeks.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I can't do you justice either," she quipped.

"I'm pretty sure you could do the Mona Lisa justice if you set your mind to it," Lexa laughed, shutting the car door.

"Well, sure, the Mona Lisa is ugly!"

They snickered together as they climbed the stairs, and Lexa's heart fluttered for a moment when she realized that this implication was not just a joke, but a compliment.

Inside, they removed their shoes, and Clarke unpacked a sketchbook and a fresh set of pencils. Lexa moved towards her room to retrieve her own, but pivoted on her heel in the doorway.

"I just realized, you've never been in my room," she said. "Did you want to see it?"

"Sure," Clarke answered, standing to follow.

Her bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, was neat and practical. A mossy colored blanket had been smoothed over her bed, and a matching rug covered much of the floor. On the far side of the room stood a pale wooden bookcase packed to the point of bulging. More books were slipped in horizontally atop the others, and more still lay in piles around it. In another corner sat a matching desk, and between them the door to a small closet. Lexa paced over to the desk and pawed through one of its drawers.

"So, what do you think? Exactly what you expected, huh?"

"Pretty much," Clarke grinned. "I like it though, it's cozy." She noticed a few pictures taped to the wall above the bed and wandered towards them.

The first was of a younger Lexa, maybe five years old, in the arms of a woman who couldn't have been anyone but her mother. From the sharp angle of their jaws to the gentle curls at the end of their hair, grown-up Lexa and her mother were identical. Had it not been for her mother's deep chocolatey eyes, Clarke might have mistaken the two. She couldn't stifle her smile at the sight of the girl she knew to be little Lexa, so small and innocent and joyful.

Next to this picture was a more recent Lexa with another girl about their age. It looked to have been taken by this other girl, whose arm reached up and out of the shot. She gave a goofy grin and pulled Lexa in by her shoulder; Lexa's eyes were shut tightly and her tongue hung out.

"That's my friend Anya I told you about," Lexa commented, noticing Clarke's interest in the photo. "The one I had to move away from."

"She looks like as much fun as she sounds," she replied. "Who's this?" Clarke pointed to the last picture, a girl with tiny, dark, spiraling curls, warm olive skin, and freckles across her nose. Thick lashes hooded her smiling silver eyes. She looked to be about thirteen.

"Her name is Costia," Lexa said, barely audible.

"She's beautiful."

"I thought so too. She was my girlfriend in eighth grade and the summer after."

"Awe, your middle school crush? That's so sweet," Clarke teased, but when she turned and saw Lexa's stony face, her smile faded. "Did something happen? Was it a hard break up?"

"She was in a car accident. Her driver was drunk. He survived, and she didn't." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Oh my God… Lexa, I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's alright. It was years ago, and I've accepted it." They fell quiet. Clarke sank down into the bed.

"If you don't mind me asking…who was she in the car with? Is he in jail?"

"My father was supposed to pick her up and bring her to my track meet. My mom was at work, so no one knew he had been drinking before going to get her. He was in jail, but he got parole and was let loose last year. That's- that's why I moved out." She drew a quick breath and paused, searching the floor, before continuing. "I have accepted her death, but I may never forgive my father."

"Lexa, I- I had no idea. I'm so sorry to bring it up, I didn't-"

"Clarke, it's alright. I wouldn't have told you if it wasn't. Actually…you're the first person I've told since I moved here. And it feels really good." She fell into those blue eyes, her smile returning.

"But why would you tell me?"

Lexa sat on her knees beside Clarke, her voice still intimately soft.

"Because since that day, the hardest thing I've had to do is try to trust people. He's my dad, you know? He's kinda the person I'm supposed to trust most, besides maybe my mom. But he broke that for me, for everyone around me. But...but you," she swallowed, "you make it easier."

"Oh come on, Lexa, you don't have to say that." The blonde shook her head and glanced down, picking at her fingernails.

"I'm not _saying_ it, I _mean_ it." She batted Clarke's left hand away and took the right in both of her own. Her hands were as warm as the blonde's reddening face. "I do trust you, Clarke." Clarke's mouth hung open briefly as she searched Lexa's eyes.

"Thank you, I...I can imagine that must be hard for you. And I'm not exactly most people's first choice, so, it really means a lot, actually."

Lexa's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just glad you can trust me, because I trust you too. And because we're going to have to spend a lot of time together staring at each other's faces for the next few days," Clarke snickered. "Should we get started?"

"Sure, I guess we should."

* * *

Lexa volunteered to draw first, so Clarke settled on the couch and turned on the television to some angry chef screaming at his employees about burning the chicken. Lexa, kneeling at the coffee table she had dragged backwards towards the left of the television, had stared down at her sketchbook for almost an entire episode.

"I know you're nervous, Lexa, but it would probably help to use my actual face for reference."

"I-I am, I just, I don't wanna be weird. I don't want it to bother you," she stuttered.

"It doesn't bother me. That's why I chose you to be my partner, remember? Here, look." Lexa met Clarke's eyes as she pulled the hood down off of her head. "There. Does that prove it?"

"Yeah," Lexa nodded, a smile creeping to her lips.

She continued to sketch the lines of Clarke's face: the smooth bridge of her nose, the gentle curve of her brows, the shallow divot in the middle of her chin. When she arrived at the lips, her mouth was suddenly dry. She cleared her throat and shifted, trying to think objectively and hoping the blonde wouldn't notice.

"Is something wrong?" Clarke asked.

"No, it's nothing," she replied hurriedly. "I'm just having trouble with shaping- with your um-" her hand reached absentmindedly for the feature on her own face, the name of which she had suddenly forgotten.

"My lips?" The blonde smirked. "Can I help?"

"Y-yeah, sure, please," Lexa managed.

As Clarke wandered over to her side of the room, Lexa could have sworn there was an extra sway to the girl's hips.

"The best way to figure out the shape of something you're drawing is to trace it. If it's two-dimensional, you can trace it on a separate sheet of paper for practice, and if it's three-dimensional, you can use your fingers." She knelt across the coffee table and looked at Lexa expectantly.

"My fingers?"

"Yeah, to know how something's shaped. Go ahead, you can trace them."

"Your lips," Lexa swallowed.

"Yes, Lexa," Clarke laughed, "go on."

She raised a trembling hand cautiously closer to Clarke's face. As gently as she could, she pressed the pad of one long finger against the corner of her mouth, and dragged slowly upwards, following the curve of her lip. It dipped in the middle, and on the left side her finger brushed against a light, pin-sized beauty mark she had noticed the first time they spoke. She felt more than saw the pink lips part just slightly as she moved to the bottom, which was somehow even softer. When she had come full circle, she could have sworn time stopped as she stared, until the lips curled up into a grin and she drew quickly drew back her hand.

"Is that better?" Clarke whispered.


End file.
